


Lazy Tuesday Morning

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Marvel Bites [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Mornings, Mornings are hard when you are a SuperHero, Multi, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: A lazy morning.





	Lazy Tuesday Morning

Steve is the first one to wake up. It’s his lot in life to be awake at five in the morning without fail. It’s completely dark in his bedroom. If he were in the country, the first strains of morning would be lighting the sky with indigo and blue hues. Here, the early morning glow’s lost in the haze of the habitually insomniac city around them. He sinks back against the pillow under his head and relaxes, letting his artistic mind paint a picture of what he’ll find outside. He’s learned never to take a quiet morning like this for granted. Too many sunrises find him either tangled in sweaty bedsheets, gasping for air that doesn’t reach his lungs through the cold, black water, or in the belly of a Quinjet, heading to another battle or coming from one - like last night. But this morning isn’t fraught with half-remembered nightmares or real dangers, so he takes his time to enjoy it. Carefully, he rolls his shoulders against the mattress and stretches his ankles and toes. There’s only ghosts of the all-consuming ache and exhaustion from the last couple of weeks in his bones. The miracles of the Serum still outweigh the hassles, he muses. 

He slips out of bed just as carefully, as to not disturb his bedmates. The attempt is a complete loss; Natasha mutters morosely in her sleep, one pale arm feeling around for his comforting heat. James snuffles and pulls her closer, wrapping himself around her. As always, his protectiveness come out, even dead asleep. Steve spends a few minutes watching them, sketching the tableau in his head in soft pastels and charcoal. The sweep of Natasha’s stunning red hair, soft as silk; the shining curve of James’ metal shoulder disappearing under the floral coverlet, the blood red star of the Motherland peeking out. There’s a deep gouge across it, on the diagonal. James had laughed when Steve noticed, during the last of the battles, and said he’d never been happier to have a fake arm. Steve’s mind still supplies the brushstrokes of deep coppery brown to make up for the lack of dried blood. He finishes the sketch with light swipes of color to both of their faces, sleep-warm and soft. 

Only then does he retreat to the bathroom down the hall so he can brush his teeth without waking either of them again. The mirror reflects only his blond bedhead and bruising on his temple that will stick around for a few days, instead of the red Death’s Head that follows him to the bathroom some mornings. His running outfit is folded on the counter, shoes sitting over the register on the floor. He braces his hands on the counter and stares at the Army shirt and black sweatpants. For once in a long while, he doesn’t much want to go running. He reasons with himself that he can turn it into something good. Hey, this body isn’t going to keep itself in shape. Running is very good for the cardiovascular system. Sam can quiz him on the bones of the human body as they run, if he can find the air to do so. Maybe he’ll just jog the route today. Decision made, he changes, makes a quick pit stop at the fridge in the kitchen for a bottle of water and a banana, and heads out for his morning constitutional. 

#####

Sam’s phone trills ‘The Star-Spangled Man’ at thirty after five, which has to be someone’s joke. He slaps at the coffee table in an attempt to locate it without opening his eyes. He finds it after it stops ringing, and the moment he has it in his hands it starts again. ‘Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way? Who vows to fight like a man -’ Despite the headache forming behind his eyes, Sam smiles and answers. “You forget I was sleeping on your couch?” Steve’s breathless reply makes him laugh. “Figures. You were in zombie mode last night before hitting your pillow. James wasn’t sure if you could even remember where you were.” He pauses. “Well, that’s what you get for trying to stop a fist with your head. I take it you feel better?” He sits up and stretches his sore right arm above his head. “I can hightail it outta here and meet you at the donut shop around seven? We’ll get a cab back if we’re getting that many donuts. Who’s all here - oh, hell, definitely taking a cab back. Barton eats his body weight in breakfast foods. May as well stop at the convenience store too, we’re out of eggs. See ya there.” 

He hangs up and stretches fully, turning it into forward momentum to the bathroom. He stops at Steve’s bedroom doorway to get a quick visual on Natasha. She’s still sound asleep, with James’ heavy metal arm locked around her waist. An eye blinks at him from the mass of red and chocolate hair on the blue pillows. Sam nods at James, and James wiggles metal fingers at him. She’s fine. I’m fine. 

Sam moves on and shuts the door to the bathroom. If Barton’s here, so is Bishop. It is way too early to be having that meeting. He runs the shower and steps under the hot spray for a few minutes to loosen his back up and scrub between his legs and under his arms. He uses Steve’s emergency travel kit for tooth cleaning and deodorant, and pops a couple Advil to kill the post-action headache. A cupboard above the laundry hamper has a collection of every Avenger’s comfy clothes, from Tony’s favorite AC/DC shirt to Bruce’s button-downs and Thor’s flannels and jeans. Sam finds an Air Force shirt and fresh necessities. A pair of Barton’s sweatpants will get him through the run. He makes the same water-banana stop Steve did and makes a mental note to pick up juice and creamer. He’ll rely on one of the other inhabitants of Steve’s new Brooklyn home to make the coffee. 

#####

James tries to settle back down, he really does. The last few days have been biblical Hell, and he just wants to sleep. But the insistent alarm programmed into his phone is drilling into his head and he doesn’t want it to wake up Tasha. He shuts it off, checks the time, and slides out of bed, leaving her nestled in the quilts in the middle. She’ll be up in a few minutes, now that he and Steve are gone. With any luck, she’ll pad down the hall to the guest bedroom and pile herself on top of Barton. But if his broken ribs are any indication, his luck is shit. He shuffles into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker and countertop flatscreen. The monitor is a hybrid of a laptop and a mobile intelligence station, courtesy of Stark Enterprises. The keyboard is embedded in the countertop and turns on at a touch. The system is wired into the home security and database interface...whatever that means, and it’s also hooked into the internet. He might just be in love with it. FRIDAY’s disembodied feminine voice tells him about the weather, stocks, news highlights and current history trivia as he pokes around the kitchen. It’s background noise and it’s soothing. Yeah, he might have to ask Stark to change his alarm to this. The history trivia was Steve’s idea, an easy way to catch up with seventy years of Important Shit Happening. 

“FRIDAY?” James finds everything to make pancakes but the eggs. 

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

James grins. “Find me recipes for eggless pancakes, please.”

“Right away.”

“Thank you. Hey, can you put on some Beatles?”

“Accessing music files now, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Aw, call me James.” He pauses. “Or Bucky.”

“I am programmed to be efficient, but I shall make the attempt.” ‘Love Me Do’ starts playing softly over the surround sound speakers throughout the kitchen. 

James blushes a little, and he’s not sure why. “Thanks again, FRIDAY.” His phone dings.

“I’ve sent the recipe to your phone, unless you would like me to pull it up on the screen, Ser - James.” 

He pulls it out of his pocket and taps it to bring up the holographic HUD. Bless Stark and his toys. “Not necessary, doll.” He grins and goes all in. If he’s suddenly flirting with an A.I., he may as well. “Hey, what’s your favorite color?”

#####

“Is that the Beatles?” 

Clint groans and throws his arms over his eyes. “Kate. My God, yes. The Beatles are still a legit band, people like them and always will. Why are you in here?”

“Who seriously listens to the Beatles?” Kate is putting her boots back on, over skinny jeans and a slouchy purple sweater. Her boots are splattered with blood and mud. 

He throws back the covers. “Everyone. Everyone listens to the Beatles! The Beatles are awesome! Twelve-year-olds listen to the Beatles.”

“No they don’t.” Kate perks up. “I smell coffee and pancakes.” 

The door opens to admit a blanket-wrapped Natasha. She scowls at Clint. “Get back in bed, pillow.”

Clint smiles. “How are you conscious?”

Natasha shuffles in and collapses on the tangled sheets. “Beatles,” she mutters. Clint wraps his arms around her bundled form and tips over onto his side. “I should be lucky you are wearing clothes.”

“You should be.” Clint brushes her hair back. “But there’s coffee and pancakes happening in the kitchen along with the Beatles. It’s - “ He checks his phone on the bedside table. “It’s six thirty, didn’t we go to bed at three? Save us from righteous men. C’mon, up and at ‘em.” He pushes her to a sitting position. “Do you have clothes on?”

“Yoga pants and a bra. Sam said a shirt might interfere with the bandages.”

“That they may. I’ll roll you to the couch if Sam’s already gone.”

“Steve got up at five to go for a run. They probably left together.” She accepted a very baggy sweater from Kate. “Thank you.”

“I’ll let you two do girly things to get ready, I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I think something died in my mouth last night.” As he walked to the bathroom, he heard Barnes talking to FRIDAY about baking and vacation destinations. 

#####

Sam and Steve get back to the house closer to eight, which is a travesty best soothed by coffee and the morning paper. At least, that’s Steve’s plan. Sam’s plan is to eat his body weight in eggs and go back home to deal with the aftermath of that plan for three days. He doesn’t want to horrify the present company with egg farts, especially his. He’s gassed himself out of his own damned apartment once. But when they make it inside with the fruits of their labor, they find themselves in the middle of what, for all intents and purposes, has turned into a fully functional diner. There’s bacon and pancakes on the table, three kinds of coffee carafes, three morning newspapers and two laptops, and the Beatles was still playing over the sound system. Multi-colored charging cables are attached to various technologies all over the place. A fruit basket has made an appearance, as well as a wild Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. They both look disheveled and barely awake. Barton and Bishop are tucking into their plates with abandon while Natasha is curled around a giant mug of tea. Even Thor is present, talking on his phone to Jane and sipping a beer. 

“I was wondering where the limo had come from,” Sam muses. 

Steve stares at him. “When the heck did you see a limo?”

“Parked around the corner.” Sam gestures vaguely at the north end of the kitchen. “How did pancakes happen?”

In the middle of the rag-tag bunch of heroes in various levels of wakefulness stands James Barnes; smiley-face boxers, blue flannel shirt, man bun and toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Hey!” He pulls the brush out. “FRIDAY found me a recipe for eggless pancakes. They ain’t bad. She’s pretty handy.” He points at the science team at the table. “They brought fruit. More bananas for you.” He goes back to brushing his teeth while reading the sports page.

Tony points at James. “He can cook. Why does he know how to cook?”

Steve snorts and turns his head away. “ ‘Cause I can’t? I can make a stew, but that’s about it for me and cooking. He can do everything else.” He’s looking at James, who is topping off coffee now, and wanders over to give him a hug and grab a mug for himself. 

“Christ, did you run around at the bottom of the Hudson?” James pinches his nose closed with the hand holding the toothbrush. “Go take a shower, both of ya!”

Steve cackles and drags Sam with him, both mugs of coffee in his hand.


End file.
